


Silent, But Fervent

by JEAikman



Series: The Musketeers - prompts and one-shots [14]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Prayer, injured d'Artagnan, religious Aramis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1301383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JEAikman/pseuds/JEAikman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Aramis praying prompt on the kinkmeme:</p>
<p>"In the books Aramis was always on a fence about his military career/becoming an abbe and was deeply religious in his own cunning, ladies man's way.<br/>I'd love a fic in which one of the musketeers is gravely injured and Aramis's praying at their bedside."</p>
<p>http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/774.html?thread=299782#cmt299782</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent, But Fervent

Sometimes Aramis wondered why he'd decided on the lot of a soldier in the first place. He could feel the call of prayer in his soul and often wished for a life which leant more toward peaceful contemplation. But then he thought of his comrades - Athos, Porthos, and sometimes he even thought of Marsac, though the memories still brought him pain. Men with whom he shared a stronger bond than mere friendship - they were brothers, not in blood, but in bond, and the way that they stood together, facing off any foe with the conviction that they would fight together, until whatever end they may meet.

 

But seeing the newest amongst their number so weak and ill after taking a musket ball to the side brought his doubts and his fears crashing back down on him like a waterfall. D'Artagnan had taken it upon himself to shield Porthos from a lethal shot, and get himself gravely wounded for his trouble. True, the young Gascon had been injured many times before - but never before had Aramis had to dig out a bullet from his young friend's flesh. It made him sick to remember it, and he'd spent a good long time trying to wash the feeling out of his hands. They still felt wrong - but for when they rested on the rosary gifted to him by the Queen. It grounded him. It gave him faith. He gripped the cross so tightly that an imprint of it was left in his hand, and he sank down to his knees and bent his head in prayer at the side of the bed. The practiced words fell from his lips, and they were a comfort:

"Almighty and Eternal God,  
You are the everlasting health of those who believe in You.  
Hear us for Your sick servant d'Artagnan  
for whom we implore the aid of Your tender mercy,  
that being restored to bodily health,  
he may give thanks to You in Your Church.  
Through Christ our Lord. Amen."

Aramis did not cease in his prayers for the length of the night, excepting when his patient had need of him. Tears filled his eyes, and he held on to the only tether he had to reality - his religion. God would not take their friend from them so young - not when he had so much yet to achieve, so much more to learn. He still had to become a Musketeer. The Lord must have a greater plan than this. D'Artagnan woke briefly once, asking for his father, and that almost stole Aramis' breath away, but he kept praying silently, even as he gently wiped the boy's brow with a cool wet cloth.

Athos came to check on them once he returned from Treville's office where he had explained the events of the mission in detail. It was very nearly morning, and Aramis was knelt by the bed, which worried Athos at first - had their friend already passed on? The mere thought of it made him sick to the stomach.

"He's not dead, Athos" he heard Aramis whisper. "By God's Grace, he's not dead. Not yet. Nor, I think, will he die today." Athos was about to smile, when he realised that his friend's voice already sounded like he was grieving.

"Aramis, what is it? You said he would be alright, did you not?" His friend nodded.

"This time. But what of the next mission, and the one after?"

"We are soldiers." Athos told him firmly, which only elicited a bitter laugh from his comrade.

" _We_ are, yes. The boy is not. Not yet. But he will, provided he lives that long. He has the soul for it."

Realisation dawned on Athos' face at his friend's words.

"Aramis... whatever you choose, you will always be our brother. Do not let us cloud your judgement." He paused, looking over at their injured friend, who was breathing steadily, though it definitely sounded laboured. "Though, if you are going to abandon us for God - I'd prefer you waited until you've taught at least two of us to sew half as well as you, or we would be dead within the week." His tone was light, but his eyes told a different story. He would brook no argument on that score, as the lives of his friends came before anything else. Aramis smiled and patted the bed.

"Come, pray with me, my friend." Slightly shocked by the invitation, Athos did not quite know what to make of it. "For d'Artagnan, if nothing else. Have faith for him - let him be your reason." At that, Athos scrutinised the face of his long time comrade, who only smirked. "It's quite obvious how you feel for him. You should tell him. Before something happens that leaves either one of you unable to." Athos glared, but Aramis looked distinctly pleased with himself. "I shall pray for God to give you courage, mon ami." Athos clopped him on the back of the head, but conceded to kneel next to Aramis and pray with him. They prayed together, silent, but fervent in their wishes, whilst d'Artagnan slept on, ignorant of all except the warmth of the friends by his side.


End file.
